Immortality
by crinaeae
Summary: There are many secrets in the world. Daniel Jackson just happens to have more then most. Highlander x Stargate SG1 NOTE: This is a revamped version. If you've already read this, read it again. It's better. I promise.
1. The Gathering

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE TO ALL OF THOSE WHO HAVE ALREADY READ THIS CHAPTER:

It changed. A lot. And by a lot, I mean it changed so much that the rest of the story will not make sense unless you reread. I'm sorry about this, but I think you shall agree that this version is fifty times better than the original. How could it be fifty times better, you may ask? Well, that, dear readers, is mostly thanks to you. You've read and picked apart a good deal of issues with this piece, and I've tried to fix all of my mistakes. So, happy reading. (Again.) I hope you find even more wrong with this story in the future so I can make it better.

Crinaeae Rai

* * *

A familiar prickle ran through Duncan MacLeod's mind, his body tingling in familiar anticipation. Ducking off the main road into the shadows of a darkened alleyway, he drew his katana out of his long trench coat, and waited for the Immortal he had sensed following him from the Airman infested bar on the corner to appear.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, " he challenged, his voice the controlled and powerful rumble of a large jungle cat, stepping out of the shadows to confront the man.

"And I, Daniel Jackson, am not interested in The Game tonight." The Immortal was a scholar with sandy hair that flopped over his wire-rimmed glasses, who held books on obscure languages in his hands, rather than a sword. "Nor are you, I think. However, if you insist -" he sighed again and carefully laid the precious books in the nest he made of his jacket, out of the way, and straightened with a wicked looking Chinese straight sword of impeccable craftsmanship, adorned with the traditional long red tassel. "Must we do this, MacLeod? I'm tired and want to go home to read over some texts with a mug of coffee. That's it."

The weariness in the man's voice was a sharp contrast to the readied stance his body held, taut as a piano string.

"If that was all you truly desired, then why did you follow me, Daniel Jackson?" he asked, circling the apparently younger man slowly. Daniel sighed again, unwilling to get into a match for his head when he was tired, mildly sore from a previous mission, and still had the remains of a whiskey double on the edge of his awareness.

With a mental nudge, Jackson dropped another layer of protection that bound his Quickening aura to the level of a far younger Immortal, letting more of his true strength show. "I felt you, and I wondered who was in town. That was it."

"You shouldn't have followed an unknown Immortal if you were not willing to fight, young one." Duncan was not impressed by the "dialing up" the youngster had shown, pretending to be stronger than his heads and years. With a sigh rivaled Jackson's for weariness, he moved to sheath his sword inside his coat, offering the helpful tip - "There are many who would've taken your head the instant your name dropped from your lips."

"Young am I?" Daniel smirked at the ridiculous comment, and walked away, going to fetch up his books and jacket. "Okay, have it your way, MacLeod."

MacLeod only had three seconds to react when the archeologist exploded into action, his sword swinging in a blinding sliver arc that through the light from the flickering street lamp into the archeologist's eyes. Gritting his teeth, Jackson's blade met MacLeod's in a shower of golden sparks.

"I am not some young pup that is begging for training, MacLeod. Save your warnings and tests for someone who cares." Daniel hissed, finished with the insults from the Scotsman. He locked the hilt of his sword with the small guard on Duncan's katana, and pulled the man body to body, letting his Quickening fill the air, like a bolt of lightning about to strike. "Three times have I told you that I am not willing to fight you. Leave me alone, before you bite off more than you can chew."

"Daniel?" a male voice rang from around the corner, pitched like a man looking for a lost puppy rather than lost friend, and accompanied by much semi-drunken whistling.

"That's my friend looking for me. They take turns walking me home after we go drinking on nights off." The scholar explained, tucking the sword back into the jacket on his back and picking his books back up. Duncan nodded, his katana disappearing into his long coat.

"I'm here, Jack," Daniel called out, and the man, wearing a leather jacket over jeans and a cotton t-shirt, the colors dulled to black by the low lighting approached the two men carefully, albeit with a jaunty step and hands deep in his pockets. "Just met an old friend here on the street. When we were in the bar, I saw him walk by, so I decided to catch up with him. You can put the knife away now."

"Hello," the man said cheerfully, his left hand giving the Immortals a small wave. "I'm Jack. And, Daniel, I have no idea what you're talking about by knife."

Daniel suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the "older" man. He had walked home with Jack from the local bar outside Cheyenne Mountain too many times to believe that the man wasn't holding a live blade in the deep pocket of his jacket. The wave was also planned, giving Jack another few seconds of advantage if Duncan rushed him.

"Duncan MacLeod," he smiled, oozing Immortal charm.

"He's an expert on Scottish history, but not bad on general western European history, Native American history, and Chinese history. Mostly concentrating on the history of sword fighting." Daniel filled in, turning his body to protect Jack from Duncan subtlety. "We first met when I was working on a project in grad. school with a rune based code I came across in an obscure monk's private journals."

Duncan was privately shocked the scholar knew more about him then he had first realized, and it was more than enough to weave a convincing lie for his friend. A good friend, too, from the looks of it, one that wouldn't be easy to fool with little information. And yet, the scholar had fooled him, just as he had fooled Duncan by suppressing the extent of his Quickening aura that had tricked him into thinking the man was a new and brash Immortal with a fancy sword. "Well, Daniel, I can see that you're very tired, so I'll let you be on your way. Perhaps we can meet up tomorrow?"

"Yes, our conversation was cut a bit short today." Daniel agreed, fishing a white business card and pen out of his pocket. He wrote three runes on the smooth back and pressed it into Duncan's hand.

Duncan nodded his understanding - the runes stood for a time and place where it would be safe for them to meet tomorrow. " I shall see you again, Daniel, Jack."

* * *

"Daniel Jackson!" Jack bristled, more than a little unhappy at the whole situation. He had finally put the knife back into the sheath at the small of his back, instead of holding it in his pocket when they were a good five minutes out of Duncan's range.

"Jack, it's not a big deal. I can take care of myself, at times."

Jack shot him a look, and Daniel gave him one back.

"Jackson, look - any one of us could die on a mission, so you can understand that it would look really stupid if one of us died by some act of random violence." he ran a hand through his thick, graying hair, "That's why we have the buddy system for nights when we go drinking off base. Never mind the fact that you can barely stand up after one beer."

"Yes, okay." Daniel sighed, opening the door to his apartment with one hand. He was tempted to tell his friend the truth, that the only threat in the night had been Duncan, and that he could put away more than one beer if he wasn't thinking about it, but that was simply the exhaustion talking. Otherwise the thought of telling the Air Force how he couldn't die would never have crossed his mind. The last time he had confided in a mortal, the witch hunters had knocked on his door in the middle of the night. Better to be alone then burned alive. Or crucified. Again.

"What was that project that Duncan helped you with in school? Jack asked, Are you sure that it's not an Asgard-thingy? They did a lot with runes, and stuff." He pushed out his lips, turning "stuff" into "st-oo-f".

Daniel shook his head, "The language, well, more like code, is old, but its only ever been used for communication among Immortals."

Jack settled back in a plush chair, this was going to take awhile for Daniel to explain, and he knew it. "I'm going to need some of your world famous coffee, Daniel, if you want me to stay away for the whole explanation."

Daniel smiled and talked as he walked over to the same kitchenette that was only ever used for heating up water for pasta and making endless pots of coffee. "The Immortals were a lose clan, or association, of warriors spread all over the world. They are sometimes called the Princes of the Universe, since it is said that they cannot die unless they are beheaded by a sword or other metal weapon. They would live their lives, but if one encounters the other, they would fight until one was beheaded. Because they were all over the world, the needed to make sure that they had an effective way to spread messages, laws, birth, and death announcements. They came up with a system where one person could put some runes in a bag, and give it to a clergy messenger that would pass it along. Because the messages depended so much on interpretation, they were safe from prying eyes. "

Jack leaned back in the chair, his head tilted onto the pillow, eyes half-closed, watching Daniel boil the water and coffee grounds in a pot on the stove. He grunted, and the archeologist continued while bringing the hot coffee over in two large mugs.

"As far as I know, they still exist in the form of sword fighting clubs, much like a Shaolin Kung Fu temple or a Tae Kwon Do dojo." Daniel shrugged. "As a group the Immortals have always been an historical enigma."

"The last historical enigma turned out to be an alien race bent on enslavement of Earth."

"No." He replied without an eye blink.

The colonel raised his eyebrow at him, taking another sip of the wonderful coffee.

"There are no records of an Immortal gaining power over a large amount of humans, or starting a cult of personality or a religion around themselves." Daniel explained.

"One of these days I'm going to have to beat your coffee recipe out of you, nothing tastes better."

Daniel gave him a look that clearly said I'd like to see you try, but his words said "I learned it from some Arab traders a few centuries back."

"Very well, keep your secrets." Jack stood up, him eyes wide as she saw the time on his wrist, "I should be getting home."

"I'll drive." Daniel offered, standing up as well. He shrugged on the trench coat he had in the black of his closet, the weight of his sword foreign after his long years not lugging it about and waved him out the door.

"I don't think so, Danny-boy," Jack plucked the keys out of the archaeologist's hand. "I'll just take the piece of crap you call a car home, since you've been drinking."

"So have you."

"Yeah, but I was a frat boy. I'll see you at lunch tomorrow, Daniel." Jack countered, walking to the door.

"Right." Daniel groaned good naturedly, wishing more than ever that he could tell the Arab traders that had taught him to make coffee were right their recipe would be the only one he would ever used for as long as he lived.

* * *

Daniel parked his bike next to Duncan's shinny black car in the church parking lot early the next day.

"Why did you ask me here, Doctor Daniel Jackson?" Duncan's voice rang out seconds after Daniel felt the tingle running down his spine, his faint Scottish accent winding around his words.

"I've been out of The Game for a century and more, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod" Daniel answered, stepping onto the holy ground of the church.

Duncan's sword was already in his hand, his words soft "And you wish to test your blade against mine."

Daniel was armed in the next heartbeat, "You are the only Immortal around for miles. It is only fitting."

With a war cry, Duncan lunged in, his blade a sliver blur that exploded into action. Daniel parried the attack, his blade moving inside Duncan's guard. Faints, spins, lunged, and strikes from every fighting style know, and sometimes forgotten, to men flowed one into the other. A dance as interact and beautiful as a flamenco dancer.

'He fights with his whole body' Duncan realized, as he jumped away from a beautifully executed leg sweep that would have him on the ground had he been the least bit sloppy. The Scot returned with a twisting blow, only to be answered with a parry from Daniel's hilt, and a grab to his elbow, pulling the two men close together, Daniel's sword dangerously near his throat.

"Had this been The Game, I would have your Quickening now." Daniel said quietly, releasing him. His sticky hair stuck close to his forehead, glasses gone, falling off at some forgotten point of the practice match.

Duncan ran a cloth over his blade, before sliding it home in its sheath. "How many heads has that last move gotten you?"

"It's called Threading the Left Golden Bridge. I learned it a while ago in a Southern Shaolin Temple. Same time I earned this sword, in fact." Daniel gestured to the straight sword at his side. He never answered Duncan's question. "You're not bad, the way your katana is more of a part of you then not is quiet frightening, but you have a tendency to forget about the rest of your body, which is the only reason why that technique worked. On another Immortal, I would have lost my hand."

"Maybe not, the hilt parry does a descent job of moving my katana out of head range." Duncan reviewed the move in his head, analyzing it from every angle.

The scholar shrugged and shoved his dusty glasses back onto his nose, his brown eyes shut away from the world. Glancing at the sun, he sighed, "I have to go to lunch, or my friends will have my head."

Duncan laughed, "An ironic way to lose your Quickening. Perhaps I should drive, so your knowledge is not lost until the last our heads has fallen."

Daniel smiled warily, suddenly uncomfortably and keenly aware that any Immortal who gained his knowledge with his head was then a national security risk, "That would be great, thank you."

"Daniel!" Jack's voice rang out through the dinner in which Daniel and Duncan had just entered, most of the sweat and grime gone from their appearances.

"Hey, Jack, I'm not too late, am I?" Daniel gasped, his hesitant voice so different to Duncan's ears. This was the scholar man he showed the world, not the prince of the universe that had taught Duncan an important fighting lesson minutes before.

"We just ordered, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c, in the guise of a human called Maury, answered, his voice stiff.

"Right. Yes, so this is Duncan MacLeod, and old friend form university."

"Doctor Jackson and I go quite a ways back, at any rate." Duncan turned to Daniel and clasped his hand, his soft voice dropping an octave. "We shall catch up another time, Daniel."

"Yes, we shall." Daniel said equally soft, his voice once again strong. He blinked and once again the Immortal was replaced by the scholar. "So, what did you get for me?"

"I believe it is called a gyro." Teal'c butchered the word, pronouncing it "gee-roo".

"Her-o" Daniel corrected absentmindedly. All of his friends were incapable of pronouncing the Greek words of his favorite dishes, Teal'c in particular.

"Was that the guy you ran into last night?" Sam asked, making a subtle disappointed face at the taste of her coffee.

Jackson smiled, it figured that Jack wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut about the chance encounter with Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod last night in the alleyway. "Yes it was. We had a rare chance to catch up today."

"What does he do?"

"Duncan MacLeod is a scholar, a collector of antiques, and a dojo owner." Daniel ticked off on his fingers, "He's really done a bit of this and that over the years."

Jack frowned, "He doesn't seem that old."

"I know. He's younger than me, but more driven, I suppose. I lost many years in the deserts of Egypt, while he was out living life." Daniel sighed, "so…"

The food came shortly, and the team talked of many things – never returning to the topic of Daniel's odd friend, for which Daniel was glad.

* * *

_The itch doesn't seem to go away. I thought that after sparring with the illustrious Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod (who should really brush up on his hand to hand combat in consort with a weapon) my need to rejoin The Game would be tricked into dormancy, sated for the next hundred year. However it seems to have had the reverse effect. Instead of decreasing, the itch has only increased to the point where I can think of little else. It is nearly impossible for me to keep my mind solely on the many alien translations that are plied on my desk, or on the trips through the Gate. My colleges have noticed the change in my behavior – no longer am I able to keep the mask of timid scholar in place. More often than not, the mask will slip and I will utter a remark true to the persona of the traveling warrior Daniel ben Yaakov. Luckily, these slips have mostly occurred in discussions involving my wife, Sha're. The cut of losing yet another wife is fresh and deep, only spurring the itch further. I want nothing more than to challenge another of our race, feel the exhilaration I my inhuman veins, the rush of power, thoughts and emotions that is the electric Quickening. This itch must go away soon, before it drives me to take my own head, or I shut myself away in a monastery, as Darius did all those years ago. One thing is clear, however – before I rejoin the Game, I must tell the others in the SGC. If any Immortal takes my head, they will have knowledge that will be able to bring down the whole of the United States government, at the very least. The only question that remains is how? _

Daniel sprinkled drying powder upon the wet ink, before stashing his journal in the highest shelf in his book case, the last in a long series of such journals he had kept ever since he learned to read and write. Later, he would take the personal journal home, safe away from praying eyes, but for now it blended in with the more professional journals that Daniel did not have to worry.

Knock! Knock! Knock! "Daniel, I need more coffee." Sam's voice closely followed her knocks upon the door.

"It's open," Daniel answered, walking over to the coffee pot he had set up in the far corner of his lab. "One of these days I'm just going to set up a colossal peculator in your lab so you don't have to keep bothering my work."

"But that wouldn't be any fun, now would it?" Sam followed him to the beloved coffee maker. "Besides, I have too many things that would be ruined should I spill coffee on them."

"Right, because what's one more stain on a useless ancient manuscript?" Daniel bit back harshly. 'Careful, Dan,' he thought fiercely in his head, 'careful.'

"Daniel Jackson, look at me." Sam ordered, "What has been up with you these past few days? Ever since you ran into MacLeod, you've been edgy and hard to work with. Sometimes I think you're two people, one the Daniel I know, and another, harsher Daniel that I've never seen."

Daniel braced himself on the counter, staring intently at the coffee maker. This glasses were off, allowing the full force of Daniel's gaze to rest upon the world. Pouring the coffee seemed to steady him, giving him something real to focus on. "Look, I'm fine. Here's your coffee."

For all his calm words, the man was obviously not 'fine'. He thrust the mug in her hands, hard enough to cause the boiling brew to slosh over the side of the mug in a tragic arch, scalding Sam's rough fingers. Only years of having her fingers abused in such a manner allowed her to keep a firm hold on the cup.

Daniel marched himself over to his covered desk, searching for his notes on the runes that Duncan had deftly slipped in his pocket at their last meeting. His fingers turned the pages, while his eyes ran over the lines of words in several different languages and codes. Softly, he admitted, "I think that I'm going to have to take some time off, and soon. I need to get my head together before I get it taken off for me."

"What are you talking about?" Sam inquired, confusion and worry tainting her words.

Daniel looked at the woman before him. She had stood by his side in the recent months since the rise of Apophis, accepting him as an intellectual equal. She, Jack, Teal'c – they all deserved answers. Answers about his life that Daniel couldn't give them, anymore then he could tell Duncan about his current life and work for the military. How had he gotten in this situation – hiding half his life from everyone he knew and had grown to trust, to care about?

"Enjoy your coffee, Sam, I have to go." Sliding the now deciphered runes into his pocket, Daniel shrugged on his trench coat, resisting the urge to sigh with pleasure at the comfortable weight of his sword resting on his back, a reminder of the warrior he was and will always be. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes, I'll see you tomorrow," Sam echoed, worry for her friend and colleague etched in every facet of her body.

"Do you ever get the itch?" Daniel bit out between blows. Duncan had started a series of deliberate chopping movements jarring against the usual fluidly of his swords work that prevented Daniel from using any hand grabs or leg sweeps.

"To rejoin the game?" Duncan asked, "No, never. I've heard that other older Immortals often do."

"Darius never did." Daniel pointed out, "and he's the oldest Immortal that I've ever met."

"We should name that man the patron saint of Immortals." Duncan laughed, returning to a circular parry to block Daniel's return blow.

Duncan shook the sweat out of his eyes, giving Daniel an opportunity to lock the two hilts together, coming body to body with the other man. "Maybe he is a saint. Of kittens or something."

The Scotsman shrugged, attempting a kick that Daniel had taught him earlier. He blocked, and shoved the man away, forcing him on his bottom. With a flourish, he spun his Chinese blade above Duncan's head, a strong movement that would have beheaded him. "And that's a match. Good one, too."

Duncan put his hand up, and Daniel grabbed it, with the idea of pulling Duncan to his feet, only to end up sprawled on the top of the man.

"Yes," Duncan agreed, ideally stroking the other man's sweat soaked hair off his neck.

The two Immortals lay there, plastered against one another in the church's field, their lungs burning for the air that they had denied their bodies during the fight.

"How do I tell them? About me? About The Game? About the itch?" Daniel asked softly, raising his head to look Duncan in the eyes.

"I have only told one mortal in my life, Daniel, so I have little in the way of help to tell you." Duncan swallowed, his voice thick with pain, "My wife to be, I told her early on, before we started dating. I had to make her shoot me in the chest before she would understand, but in the end she stood by me. However, when she found out about The Game, I thought she would be the one to take my head."

"I've never had to tell anyone. The one time I thought I would have to, she turned out to be a Watcher." Daniel sighed, "While there are many of us in the business of history, there are not many in the field of Egyptology."

"They say the first of us came from Egypt."

Daniel shrugged, "I've heard this and that, but in the end, does it matter who started this crazy Game?"

"It matters to me, Daniel" Duncan said so quietly that Daniel could barely hear them, but he uttered them so intensely, that Daniel forgot to breathe.

"Then I hope that you find your answers." Daniel laid back down on Duncan's chest, "What happened to her? Your wife?"

"She was killed. By a drug addict. I saved her from every Immortal hell bent on destroying me through her, and she was killed by some random person." His arms wrapped tightly around Daniel, as a five year old would cling to a beloved stuffed bear for comfort and strength.

"My wife, Sha're, was brainwashed. She doesn't remember me, or my love for her." Daniel blinked away tears, "I can't leave the SG-C, they're giving me the only chance I have to find her, save her, start my life again with her. But, the itch – every day it gets worse. I know that I will have to leave to satisfy my need, but will I be able to return, with everyone knowing what I am?"

"These are questions that no one can answer for you, Daniel." Duncan sat up, pushing Daniel off him, "Do you feel the itch every second of every day?"

Daniel shook his head, "Not on holy ground. The Game truly does not exist here, and neither does the compulsion to rejoin it."

"This is the time of the Gathering, perhaps this itch is The Game's way of bringing all the players to the forefront."

"I felt this itch as a young man, newly risen from the grave, when I took my first head, my first Quickening by shear dumb luck." Daniel sighed, "I suppose that I'm due for a head at any rate."

"You've never told me about your life before you were killed."

"You've never told me about yours."

"One day I will, Daniel."

Daniel wanted so much to return the oath, but his jaw remained closed. Rising to his feet, Daniel once again had his sword in his hand. "Want another round?"

"I don't know" Duncan was on his feet and armed in a flash "Can your bones keep up with me, Grandfather?"

"Can your mind compete with mine, son?" Daniel taunted back, smiling all the while. He may not be able to tell Duncan the details of his lives, but a friendly fight was something both Immortals could readily enjoy.

* * *

"I'm worried about Daniel." Samantha said without preamble to Jack and Teal'c in the busy mess hall. Daniel had just disappeared yet again, most likely to spare with the strange Scottish man that he had been spending all of his time with recently.

Teal'c nodded his head, his monotonic voice as clam and flat as ever, "What is the cause for your concern, Captain Carter?"

"Better question – when are you not worried about the good doctor?" Jack put in, smiling.

"Aren't you the least bit worried that he's been spending all of his time off base with a man we know nothing about?" Sam asked, annoyed that her fellow gate-teammates did not see this as the big emergency that she did.

"Really, it doesn't sound any more dangerous than any of your dates." Jack countered, "Look, we have a mission in a couple of days. We can all talk to him then."

"Indeed." Teal'c added, "It does not seem to me that Daniel Jackson is in any danger, Captain Carter."

Sam huffed, outnumbered, "Fine, I'm going back to the lab to look at those Goa'uld artifacts."

* * *

_Duncan MacLeod is becoming a better friend then I ever could have imagined, even if he sees the world in black and white with no shades of gray. He understands the way that we must live, with more secrets clouding our paths then truths. I feel that I should tell him about my work at the SG-C, however, this is not any easier then telling my friends at the SG-C about The Game, and everything else in my life that I have hidden from them. I do fear that our friendship cannot end well, especially if this noble man finds out what I have been keeping from him before I can explain it. The last time I let anyone in this close to me, she was captured and turned against me. Sha're, Sha're – my beautiful queen, one day I will find you and save you from the hell you are in. Sam, Jack, and Teal'c have all noticed the changes in my behavior since I have started to feel the itch, but, save for Sam, they are all acting as if nothing is wrong. Janet, my Watcher, has also noticed the change in my behavior. She notes it on my charts for her database, but not on the charts that she puts into my medical military file. For once I am glad of the Watcher's influence in my life, having to explain my knack for not having any wounds after all of our crazy missions would have been awkward indeed. The itch is still not any better, if anything it is worse, however, I have become used to it, and able to control my mask more effectively. I'm not sure whether I should be more happy or scared at this new task._

* * *

"I think that I should tell my Watcher that I know who she is." Daniel confessed to Duncan, they had just finished their last match at the Church before Daniel has to leave for his next mission with the team. "If nothing else, it'll give me a chance to practice talking to mortals about it."

"Hmmm," MacLeod muttered noncommittally, as they walked home together from the church to Daniel's apartment building, where they were both staying. "Tell me again why you will be gone for an unspecified amount of time?"

"I have to go on a trip of sorts for work. I have no idea how long it'll take." Daniel sighed, "I'm sorry for not being able to be more specific."

"I understand, Daniel, I will always understand." Duncan said, his words holding an intense edge. He had grown fond of this two-faced Immortal, the doctor who lived a more secret life then many could. "I shall wait for you to return."

Daniel's eyes flickered with fear at the intensity of Duncan's words, the certainly in his speech. "I don't know how long I'm going to be."

"So you have said, I shall still wait for you here."

"Oh, I had this made for you." Daniel said, handing Duncan a spare key he had cut that afternoon on his way home from the SGC.

With soft fingers, Duncan took the key almost reverently. "Thank you, Daniel."

The scholar shrugged off the embarrassing gratitude in Duncan's face. "Just think – you'll finally be able to eat something other than pasta every night."

"You have been too long a bachelor for me to expect anything else from you." Duncan teased. "You would think you'd learn to cook one of these lifetimes."

Pain flashed over Daniel's eyes, evident even behind his glasses, "I know."

"We live a long, hard life, Daniel. Death is a part of our lives, more so then any other person." Duncan told him softly.

"I know" Daniel said equally softly. He knew this lesson better then Duncan could ever realize.

* * *

Three of the four members of the SG-1 team stumbled through the gate. Daniel Jackson was not among them.

"He's dead. I can't believe he's dead." Sam whispered over and over, her voice hoarse from screaming, and crying before and after the horrible ordeal that had been Daniel Jackson's funeral. The three survivors were standing in front of Daniel's plain apartment door.

"I know." Jack's voice was a hoarse as Sam's. Both noticed that Teal'c had yet to say anything.

"Do we really have to do this?" she whispered. It was finally hitting her – more so then at the service, or when she had seen the Stargate swallow up the wreath, that her friend was dead. Burned to death by something with no face and no name on the shores of a planet that had no name other than a string of letters and numbers while the rest of them had hid in the ocean.

Turning the key, the three entered the apartment, causing Duncan MacLeod to hide in the bedroom, sword in his hand. Through the crack in the door, the Immortal saw the three intruders were none other than Daniel's so called friends.

"Col. O'Neill thinks I'm a geek. I have no idea how to get us back. I'll never get paid." Sam read from the diary on the table, her voice, even muffled through the door, sounded choked with grief.

"Daniel…" Duncan whispered to himself, filling with dread at the picture these people were painting.  
"But, we can't, he couldn't have…"

Pulling himself together, Duncan fled the apartment and drove to the church where he and Daniel had spent much time, sparring, talking, eating, sleeping, living. If Daniel was still out there, he'd come back to find him here. "Daniel Jackson. I told you I'll still be here, so you should find a way back."

* * *

One week later, Daniel was sitting on the exam table, thoroughly bored and craving to get out to see Duncan, although he submitted to many of the tests that Janet had ordered. "Janet. My dear Watcher. Do we really have to go through this song and dance? You know as well as I do that my stats will not have changed, even after my ordeal in Nem's 'clutches'. Furthermore, why do I have to do this if you're just going to falsify your reports to the military?"

The female doctor looked up, fear flashing briefly in her eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about, Doctor Jackson."

"Yes, yes you do, Doctor, dear." His hands light sharp, Daniel grabbed her wrist, shoving the sleeve so both Immortal and woman could see the tell-tale Watchers' mark burned into her skin. "You are a Watcher. A mortal who does nothing more then watch and report on my actions in your beloved database. It's only fitting that I watch who is watching me, is it not?"

"Daniel, let go of my arm." Her words were soft, her breathing deep. Clearly the woman had never been in charge of watching an Immortal who knew her game, and had no idea of how to react. "Yes, I am your Watcher."

"Why?" Daniel tilted his head, so like the scholar she had gotten to know that Janet nearly let out the breath she had been holding. But, not yet. He still had her wrist captive, limiting what she could do, push come to shove. And he was still an old and powerful Immortal, his origins lost to the Watchers.

"To protect you." She answered, to be answered with a snort of distain. "Would you really want to explain to the military doctors why you are never hurt? Why the sedatives that they slip into your food never work quite right? Why you can stay awake and have no food or water for months at a time, and act like it's nothing? Why your x-rays show more lead in you then a pencil? Would you really want to have to explain all of that?"

"The enemy of my enemy is someone who I must trust and depend on to keep my secrets, Janet, not my friend. Not now, at the very least." He let go of her wrist, but the danger was still there. The mask of Doctor Daniel Jackson, the puppyish scholar who was everyone's little nerdy brother was still in place, but she had just seen the man behind the mask. The warrior that lived his life for few reasons, save for learning and The Game. The warrior that had fought and killed and survived in the harshest worlds.

"I would like to be your friend, Daniel, in time." Her voice was quieter now, more hesitant.

"And I would've liked for you to have told me your purpose long ago, when you joined this team." Daniel sighed, "If wishes were fishes, we'd all cast nets." He turned to her, a sly smile on his lips that must have caused much flutter over the centuries. "Now, do we really have to do these silly tests?"

"Even though you are Immortal, Daniel Jackson, you are not immune to psychological damage. Having your brain dug around din by some alien device could cause some damage. I want you to come to me at the first sign of nightmares. Or flash backs. Or anything abnormal." Janet reprimanded.

Daniel gave her a look.

"More abnormal then normal for you." Janet sighed. Immortals were the worst patients in the history of medicine.

* * *

Duncan was waiting for Daniel, but he was not sitting in the field behind the church, where Daniel had left him. Instead, the man came face to face with an Immortal who was armed, dangerous, and extremely unhappy. "I had heard that you were dead, Doctor Daniel Jackson. After all, your friends came to clean out your apartment while I was there. You can learn many things if people do not know you are listening. Would you like to know what I learned about you, Doctor Daniel Jackson?"

"I know." Daniel answered softly, letting the man circle him without moving a muscle. "There's much about my life in recent years that not many people know about me."

"Other than your travels to other planets, you mean. Or do you mean your ability to lie to every person that crosses your path?" Duncan bit out. He hated being lied to. Hated it. "What else have you not told me, Daniel? Who else have you lied to about yourself?"

"Two years ago, I became sick and tired of listening about all the fallacies in Egyptology taken as fact. So, I started to correct them. My first few papers, which relayed heavily upon my letters and journals I wrote as an Ancient Greek explorer of Egypt where folded into the span of knowledge excepted by my peers. Emboldened, I wrote a paper disusing the true builders of the Great Pyramids of Gaza, citing mostly my own works with no outside help or sources. I was regarded as a quack among the people who had one year ago lauded me for my successes. Little did I know that at the same time the Air Force had a group of researchers on the origin of the pyramids. They found some symbols that they couldn't figure out. I was able to translate for them, and we discovered this cult of people in Egypt who were holding the native people captive using fear and violence along with drugs and brainwashing. I met my wife among those people, and chose to live with them. Then, another sect of the same cult found us. They killed many of my men and took my wife as the wife of the leader of their sick cult." The man's voice was bitter, his wounds old. "After that, I came here and tried to forget how to live. I shut myself away, but you and Jack just keep pulling and pulling at me until I am once again open and vulnerable."

"You told me that your wife was brainwashed. That you were trying to find her and start your life anew with her."

"The Goa'uld, they're parasites. My wife was brainwashed by them and is living with them now." Daniel looked down quickly, his tears stinging his eyes. " I want to free her from that. I _have_ to free her from that sick son of a bitch."

Duncan sheathed this sword, his arms crossed over his chest. "Why did your friends think you were dead?"

"I was captured, and my friend's saw me die in a burst of flame. Really, I was dead, but there was no good way I could have told them that. Nem never meant to kill me, at any rate." Daniel swallowed, "I translated more Cuneiform than I ever want to see again in my life. In the end, the alien, Nem, I found out that he only wanted to find out what happened to his wife when she came to our world. I let him use his memory machine on me, and she was killed by the Goa'uld as well. Before I left him, he told me 'What fate Sha're?' It gave me hope."

"Have you told the others that you work for about the memory machine used on you?" Duncan asked.

"I wrote a basic report. They don't expect much from me, being a civilian and all." Daniel gave a wan smile, "I doubt they'll even look very closely at my report, given 'The traumatic events' I went through with the brainwashing and all."

"Enough of this then." Duncan smiled, but it was a ghost of his former smiles. "We have talked enough for now."

Daniel's stomach dropped to his feet, feeling more in his heart than beating flesh and blood. His friend didn't believe him, and Daniel didn't blame him. The version of his adventures with SG-1 that excluded all mention of aliens, space travel, and wormholes was a bit hard to take. But for now, Duncan was willing to pretend that everything was fine between them, and Daniel had to hold on to that lie as the rest of his world slipped away. "I am glad that I didn't lose you, my friend."

"As I am glad that you could tell me the truth at long last, Daniel." Duncan dropped his stance back, sword at the ready, "Now, we fight."

* * *

Daniel entered the infirmary the next morning, his face pale but happy. He entered Janet's private office and closed the door tightly behind him.

"Ah, Doctor Jackson, what can I do for you today?" Janet asked, her morning smile ever present.

"Duncan knows."

Those two words changed everything. The smile was gone from her face in a flash. "How?"

"He doesn't know about the wormholes or space travel, but he knows pretty much everything else. He was staying in my apartment when Jack, Sam, and Teal'c went to clean it out after my supposed death. Which, by the way Janet, can you get them to be bloody well sure if I'm dead or not before they clean out my apartment again?" Daniel asked, "As in beheaded dead?"

"I'll be sure to try next time Daniel. It would be a lot easier if your ilk left bodies instead of just your swords behind, you know." Janet rubbed the bridge of her nose, she could feel a headache coming on. "I'm going to have to report this to the Watchers."

"No, you don't." Daniel sat in the chair across from her desk. His voice was deadly serious, and for the first time since she had known him, Janet felt the weight of his Immortal aura. "Just like you don't have to report this to your military superiors. Really, this is a military issue, not a Watchers issue. But you're not going to report anything about the Immortals or the Watchers to the military. You never have and you never will."

"What makes you so sure of this?"

"Because it's your head as well as mine if you tell the military, now isn't it?" Daniel shrugged, but it was not the careless shrug of a scholar that knew more of times long gone then he did of times in the present, it was the shrug of a man who wore power as a clock. A man who knew all of your secrets in a single glance.

"You're starting to scare me Jackson." Janet said warily.

Again he shrugged, "I know. You see, that's the point. I like you Janet, and I would very much like to trust you, but you keep making it harder and harder for me to do so."

"You are as guilty as I am of leading a double life."

"Wrong." Daniel's voice was low and intense, "My chooses were taken from me when I died. You made your choices for yourself. Now." He blinked and he was Daniel Jackson again, sitting in her office, not a powerful Immortal who was not to be crossed.

He left, and for one horrible instance, the woman was afraid that he had taken all the air out of the room with him.

* * *

_Joe –_

_Daniel Jackson knows who I am, and why I am here. Apparently he has known for a long time, but only felt the need to tell me this after everyone was convinced he died on a mission for the Air Force. (I for one am not sure that he did not die and come back to life, as our friends are so want to do.) Today, he told me what I would and would not tell my various superiors. While his reasoning was correct, and the reasoning I had used, it was still terrifying to be faced with someone who seems to wear power and knowledge as a clock, when I am so used to dealing with a timid scholar. Advice is requested._

_Janet._

The Watcher sent the email without any twinge of remorse. Joe was Duncan's Watcher, after all, and if the two Immortals were going to be close, then they was no reason for their Watchers not to be close as well.


	2. The Remembering

Note: This chapter is new and improved, with clarifications and more details for those who requested them. (Thank you so much for the notes!) I would also like to take this opportunity to beg, barrow, or steal a beta reader for this piece. I try to look over everything before I publish it, but no one's perfect.

Other then that short note, I own next to nothing in this wonderful piece. Enjoy!

* * *

Daniel Jackson was still in the Air Force gym when the clock on his wrist beeped the time. One o'clock in the morning and well past the time he would have been in bed, if the last mission with Nem and his damned memory machine hadn't royally screwed with his mind. Every time the man tried to slip into Hypnos' realms, the once forgotten images flooded the dark theater of his mind – a horrible movie he could never walk away from. It played relentlessly in the background, waiting got a slip of his eyelids. Daniel grimaced against the images and pushed his body through the hardest open hand pattern dance he had ever learned in his two thousand years of clear memories for the fifth time that night.

Clad in only the heavy military issue green pants, the chiseled muscles of his chest glistened with a thick layer of sweat, proclaiming a long and tiring workout. His double-weighted practice sword was strapped to his back, the thick strap practically glued to his upper body, the bright red tassel on the hilt was similarly plastered to his neck, like some horribly bloody wound. Open hand set now finished, the Immortal drew the sword from his sheath in a whisper of metal on silk. Gasping for breath in between the strikes and blocks of the pattern dance, he relished the feeling of his muscles burning with the effort. His body wanted nothing more then put down the sword and slip into a dreamless sleep on the mats, but the long years of training and discipline held a death grip on Daniel's mind, pushing him to complete the kata just one more time.

And Sam watched, transfixed by the play of sword and man in the intricate dance the archaeologist was flawlessly executing. As she silently watched the man, her coffee mug held loosely in her hands, the captain finally understood the crazed mutterings of the majority of the female (and some of the male) nurses in the infirmary. Her grip loosened on the coffee mug, and it fell to the ground with a clatter that rang as loud and true as the church bells of Notre Dame in the stillness of the night.

With all the fluidity and violence of a wave crashing on a shore, Daniel exploded out of the dance, his muscles coiled for a fight, sword poised at the ready. The woman starred, eyes wide in shock, before reaching down to collect the coffee mug that had fallen. The next instant, the army woman was lying flat on the ground, a sharp sword at her neck, and her assailant staring down at her with vacant eyes.

"Daniel!" she gasped, her mind turning, trying in vain to analyze the situation. To offer some rational explanation why her coworker, team mate, and friend with standing above her, holding a deadly blade to her vulnerable neck.

Then the man blinked, and Daniel was back again.

"Oh. Sam." Sheathing the sword, he reached down and effortlessly pulled the woman to her feet by her elbow. "You surprised me."

"Obviously," Sam answered shakily. "Where in the world did you learn that, Daniel? You can barely cover yourself in the field."

"I know that I can't shoot for shit, but I have never denied knowledge of being able to defend myself." Daniel sighed, this was a conversation he had many times since assuming his 'Daniel Jackson' impersonation, and he was thoroughly sick of it. "Just because you don't know what I can do, doesn't mean I can't do it." Taking his sword back out, he ran a cleaning clothe over the blade and hilt before settling it back on his back, the cleaning more out of nervous habit then concern for the weapon. "Honestly, do I look defenseless to you?"

"I meant more in the lines of stealth, tracking…" Sam clarified, while bending down to pick the miraculously unbroken coffee mug off the ground.

"You should know better than anyone that knowing one weapon well doesn't make you special ops." Daniel took the sword out and cleaned it yet again. He seemed more relaxed by having the sword in his hand than when it was on his back, Sam ideally noticed. His voice dropped, low and soft, his eyes sincere, "Sam. Do I look defenseless to you?"

"Yes, Daniel, you look defenseless. Do I think of you as defenseless? No." Sam swallowed, "I haven't thought of you as defenseless since you destroyed Thor's Hammer."

"I almost didn't destroy it."

"But you did." she stated firmly. "You helped your team, even though you knew that the Hammer could've saved your wife."

"That's why I almost didn't destroy it." Daniel sighed. "I'm going home." _I need to talk to Duncan about this._

"Coffee for me before you go?"

"Sleep would be better for you." Daniel countered, "It's late."

Sam's expression changed sharply, hardening. She walked over to the Immortal, making herself as tall and big as she possibly could, hissing into his face. "Don't you ever tell me what to do again, Doctor. Don't you ever dare order me around again."

"I didn't mean any disrespect, Captain." Daniel slowly backed away to a more comfortable distance from the woman, "I merely spoke out of concern."

"Why were you working out here?" Sam turned the tables on him, her voice was sharp from the lack of sleep. "Shouldn't you be taking your own advice? I don't know about you, but working out has never been very restful for me."

Daniel shrugged and tossed his military issued jacket over his sword, closing it to keep his muscles warm. An Immortal he may be, but he was not improvable to overly strained muscles. "It depends what you mean by restful." _And I can't sleep. I can't let Duncan hear me screaming again._ He added mentally.

"I can't sleep." Sam offered quietly, her hands clenching and releasing. Her jaw set tight against the apparent pain. "If I do, then I can wake up and find that you died, and these past three days with you have been some horrible dream. And then, I've have to deal with leaving one of my team behind, of saving my own skin in the ocean while you burned, and burned, and burned."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam. Not for a long while yet." Daniel reassured the woman in front of him, "But your work, and more importantly, your health is only going to suffer if you don't sleep."

"My work!" she yelled, "That's what caused this, Daniel!"

_Gods above, give me strength._ Daniel prayed silently in Arabic, running a hand over his face. "You still need to sleep. Look, let's both go to my apartment. I have a very nice couch, and that way you can rest assured that I will still be there when you wake up."

The woman thought it over, the man could practically see the wheels and cogs turning over in her head. "We'll leave in separate cars and arrive at different times in the morning."

Shaking his head, Daniel agreed. _Military types. When will they ever change?_

* * *

Duncan Macleod sat tensely in a worn armchair, reading an equally well used tome by the flickering firelight in Daniel's apartment, his ears straining for the smallest sound. The fellow Immortal had slept only one night in his bed since his return to Earth, and it had been a torturous night filled with screams that sounded as if Daniel's soul was being ripped apart. For the past two days, he had not returned to his abode, and it did not look as if he was planning to return tonight. The Scotsman continued to read. As the clock above the mantle chimed two, the Immortal's senses tingled and burned in a way that only an approaching Immortal could cause. Book forgotten, he draw his katana and waited as the lock turned over, the door slowly opening to admit Daniel and his blonde captain friend. 

Duncan raised a single dark eyebrow in questioning. "Welcome home, Daniel."

The man sighed, answering the unspoken question in quiet whispers. "She's been afraid to sleep, not sure if I would be there when she woke up."

Duncan eyed the half asleep woman who was currently curled up on the couch, hiding his sword form her view. "So the captain will be sleeping in the guest room?"

"No, she'll sleep in my bed, I'll sleep on the couch." Daniel answered as he hung his army jacket on the hook, and resting his sword in the umbrella stand. "She needs the sleep more than I do."

"Just because you can't die, doesn't mean you don't have to sleep." Duncan pointed out in his annoyingly Scottish manner.

"Sleep? I'm up, I'm goin'." Sam asked tiredly, pushing herself off the couch on to unsteady legs. Gently steadying her, Daniel shooed the half asleep woman into his bedroom. Carter flopped onto the bed, and within breathes she was fast asleep.

Duncan followed the co-workers, leaning against the door jamb as he watched Daniel gather his sleeping kit and throw a simple black cotton shirt over his bare chest.

"Why are you so afraid to sleep?" the Immortal asked, "What has you running away in fear?"

"Faces. Names. Places. Gods." he snapped shortly, storming his way through the apartment to the small living room. "Now will you leave me alone, Macleod?"

"No. This thing, it is eating at you. You can only rest when you speak to someone of it." the man followed Daniel at a more reasonable pace. Standing behind the archaeologist, he tenderly reached out to clap him on the shoulder.

"Don't you dare touch me, Duncan Macleod of the clan Macleod!" the archaeologist angrily exploded, whipping around fast and furious, "You know nothing of human nature! You know nothing of me! You, only four hundred years old, how do you profess to know so much? Here I stand, two thousand years that I can remember as yesterday, and dreams filled with images of times stretching back to before your civilization lived and died! So, take your help and believe me when I tell you - You. Know. Nothing."

"I know that you need help, and rest." Gracefully, he closed the gap to the older Immortal once more. "Let me help you, my friend."

"Good night, Macleod." He hissed, turning his back on the man as he resolutely unrolled the kit on the soft couch.

Sighing sadly, Duncan headed back to the guest room Daniel had offered to him before his departure off world, "Good night, Daniel."

Tossing wildly on the narrow couch, his hair matted and stuck to his forehead with sweat, Doctor Daniel Jackson dreamed.

* * *

A woman with a shy face and lively eyes sat gossiping in the village square, her face shaded by the colorful cloths hung to offer shade in the strong afternoon sun. As she talked and laughed, her elfin face lit up, her laughter carried across the square to a small ally, where Daniel stood, clad in the leather armor of a warrior. A smile played on his face as he watched the woman, even as he stood protecting her. 

"My friend," his comrade in arms clapped him on the shoulder, causing Daniel to turn away from the square, "she is a wonderful woman. You are lucky to have her."

"We are to be married next morn. Nearly all of her positions are now in my tent." The young man sighed, "I am lucky, indeed."

"They say that only fools fall in love." The man he counted among his brothers teased him, his voice light. He blinked, and Daniel half-imagined he saw his brother's eyes glow with a strange, alien light.

"Then a fool I am." Daniel turned his back on the man to watch his lovely young wife.

"And a fool you shall die!"

Daniel's world exploded into a violent contrast of bright and dark, as he felt the thin blade of his brother's knife in the unprotected small of his back. Forcing his eyes open, the man watched as horrible creatures of gold stormed into the square, killing with magical blasts of fire. As his world turned black, he watched as his lovely wife fought the iron grip of one of those monsters, and his once brother spat on his body. When he woke, the village where he had spent his inter life was nothing but a poor collection of smoldering brightly colored cloths, hate welling inside every cell and fiber of his body, Daniel screamed his fury to the gods above.

* * *

"Daniel!" a Scottish voice broke through his dreams. Only the terrified man couldn't understand the alien sounds. Someone was holding him tightly. He was trapped! 

"Get off me!" he screamed, his words in the ancient language of his dreams. "Traitor! Murderer!"

"Daniel!" the same voice commanded him, the sounds a little bit more familiar now, "Wake up!"

Gunshots rang in the air, cutting through Daniel's dream induced haze. Now wide awake, he recognized the voice and the arms that were trapping him earlier. Arms that were now lifelessly draped over his body as he saw Duncan's chest blown wide open by a gunshot wound. "Oh gods. Duncan."

"Daniel?" a female voice, Carter's, asked questioningly. "What the hell..?"

"You can put the gun down, Sam." Daniel spoke in clipped English, his words strangely accented as he tossed a blanket to cover the worst of Duncan's wounds as he rapidly healed, and went over to the woman.

Her eyes were wide in her head, her grip on the gun tighter than normal, if steady. "Answer me, Doctor Jackson. What the hell was that?"

"That was me having a nightmare." Daniel's voice was forcibly calm as it slowly lost the accent he had gained in the haze between his nightmare and his rude awakening.

The woman still did not lower her gun. "Then who did I shoot?"

"You attempted to shoot me, Captain Carter." Duncan answered, rising from the pile he had made on the floor. He had taken off the shirt he had been wearing and had wrapped it around his arm, much like a tourniquet. "I assure you, it looks worse than it is."

"Sam, this is Duncan, who I believe you've met before. He's living with me for the time being." Daniel offered by way of explanation. The night was long, and loathe as the Immortal was to admit it, his younger friend may have a point about the dangers of sleep deprivation. Even in one of their kin.

"You're married."

"He's a friend."

Sam simply raised her eyebrow at the two men. Daniel sighed. At least the Air Force Academy trained woman had lowered her gun and put the safety on.

"I believe that it is past time for sleeping." Duncan offered, his voice breaking the stretching silence, adding a yawn for effect. "G'night, Daniel. Captain."

* * *

Daniel sighed and rubbed his eyes, heavy with sleep. The Immortal's in-box was flooded with papers, demands, questions, photographs of alien writings, etc. Pushing the papers aside, he drew his personal journal from his desk drawer. His other journals - the professional ones filled with notes on the many languages he had studied and the field notebooks that detailed the many digs he had been on - lined the top shelves of his office on base, but his personal ones he always kept close. There were times the lines blurred between personal and professional journals, but for the most part, they were separate. 

_I dreamt last night, and it was clearer than any other I've had. I was watching women who were sitting in the protected square of my village. There was one woman, and when I saw her, I was filled with such joy and happiness that I cannot remember ever feeling before. Even my feelings for my beloved wife pale in comparison to what I felt when I looked upon her. My brother in arms then came to me, and clapped me on the shoulder. He told me that I was lucky to have her. I answered that she was to leave her father's tent and come to mine the next morning. He told me that only fools fall in love, and something was tight about his voice, and his eyes flashed. I told him that I would be a fool. He stabbed me in the back, and as I lay dying I saw monsters made out of gold steal my wife away from me, killing her and burning my village to ashes. I believe that this was my first death. Which is impossible, since the Goa'uld first came to Earth circa 8,000 B.C.! That would make me the oldest Immortal. Older than the old man, Methos even! I half-hope that these memories are false, planted in my brain by Nem with his machine, but they feel too true, too pure for that. _

_I'm going to have to tell Sam the truth. She's now seen me with Duncan, and she spied on me when I was working out with my sword. Teal'c and Jack I don't have to worry about, but Sam's dangerous. Maybe if I tell her, she'll become my ally. More likely she'll want to interrogate me, see how much information on Goa'uld technology she can glean. I'm going to have to tell Duncan the truth as well. Well, more of it. What I've told him so far hasn't even begun to cover every secret I have about the Goa'uld. He wants to help me, and he can't with the basic scarps I've shared with him so far. Gods willing, he may even believe me this time. Gods willing, Sam won't. _

* * *

"I'm sure that Mr. Macleod has already bent your ear with the dangers of allowing yourself to become completely sleep deprived." Janet quipped dryly as she shown a light into Daniel's eyes. 

The Immortal shrugged and brought his Styrofoam coffee cup to his lips. The brew was hot, if not particularly good. It burned his throat and cleared his head for the day. "I slept last night."

"Follow my finger." Janet commanded, watching Daniel's eyes as she slowly moved her finger from side to side in front of his face. His eyes would tract smoothly, but every once in a while, they would deviate slightly off course before fluttering back to track. The doctor sighed. "Doctor Jackson, how much sleep did you get last night?"

Daniel shrugged and sipped his coffee. The lack of sleep was beginning to wear on him, as his head felt slightly cottony, but it was nothing that the hot, caffeinated ninth wonder of the ancient world couldn't chase away. "A few hours. It was enough."

"Well, your body says otherwise. You are experiencing downbeat nystagmus, Daniel." Janet sighed, writing a note on his chart. "Your eyes are basically twitching involuntarily. Considering that it would be near to impossible for you to have experienced a stroke, massive head trauma, or developed a brain tumor last night, and all known drugs would have been flushed out of your system before they could cause that level of damage, that leaves sleep deprivation as the culprit."

Daniel snorted and crushed the now empty cup. "I've never had this before, and I have spent years in states of sleep deprivation."

"You might not have known you have it." She offered, stashing the pen in her pocket. "As your doctor, I'm ordering you to go home and get some sleep. And, if you don't sleep at least twelve hours, then I'm going to restrain you to a bed in the infirmary all night!"

Daniel allowed a slow, seductive smile to cross his face, falling into a character he had played lifetimes ago – a sex addict and Casanova who oozed the trademarked Immortal charm. His voice dropped into a range as silky and dangerous as a poisoned dagger hidden in a French court lady's silk and lace, "Restrain me, Doctor?"

"Daniel!" she snapped, flustered. "Just. Stop. Go home."

Chuckling, Daniel hopped off the cold examination table and playfully pecked the doctor on the check. "Very well."

Janet sighed, rolling her eyes at him, "You are truly horrible."

"Yes, yes I am." Daniel's soft voice answered, a warning in his eyes flashed with a dark emotion she couldn't possible name. A shiver flowed down her spine, as if Daniel had poured dry ice cubes down her lab coat.

And then he was gone. Janet blinked owlishly before scurrying to the door. Sticking her head out into the hall, she yelled "Doctor Jackson! No more coffee!"

* * *

Swords flashed in the sparse light from the moon and the old rusty lights that illuminated the church parking lot. Steel met steel in true clangs that cut through the stillness of the night. The two men danced around each other, their blades twisting like eels. Both shimmered with power and sweat in the night. 

"You should be sleeping, lad." Duncan choked out between parries and strikes. Daniel was one adversary that forced one to use all of his breath just to fight, never leaving enough to talk with.

Daniel started a series of harsh chops that accented the harshness of his words, "What is it with everyone harping on me?"

"Maybe we care about you." Duncan slid away from the attack, trying to get inside Daniel's tight guard.

Daniel's blade slid up and in, slitting Duncan's shirt cleanly before he dashed away, taunting. "Maybe you do, maybe you don't."

Duncan charged, his blade twirling in the flawless crescents the Immortal favored. Daniel jumped, narrowly avoiding the charge. Maybe Janet and Duncan were right, his reaction times did seem slower than they normally were… Shaking off the doubts, the Immortal parried and stuck with renewed vigor. Parry, faint, faint, and Duncan was inside his guard! The katana blade shimmered black in the dim light, dangerously close to his neck.

"Match." Daniel whispered, and the blade disappeared from his neck.

"Your slower then you normally are, my friend." Duncan sheathed his sword. "You need to rest lest a head hunter decides you are too good a target to leave unchallenged."

"I can deal with the head hunters." Daniel yawned, knowing his words sprung more from pride than anything else.

Duncan nodded, wise enough not to say anything. "Let's go home, then."

* * *

A ceiling had never been so boring before. Oh look, walls. Equally if not more boring. And back to the ceiling. Daniel sighed. Oh, wait – medical equipment, now that was… Never mind, still boring. Still excruciatingly boring. Daniel sighed again, pushing all of his annoyance at his meddlesome Watcher and doctor into the air. The thick leather bonds at his wrists and ankles were beginning to get on his nerves, chafing and not allowing him to flip over on his side. The blanket covering him was too warm, and he couldn't take it off. Daniel sighed yet again. Straining, he could see the evil Doctor Frasier as she worked on paperwork in her office. 

"I'm not going to let you go, Daniel until you get some sleep." Janet's voice nagged through the open door.

Daniel sighed, "How much sleep?"

"At least ten hours."

Muttering in Arabic, Daniel went back to studying the extremely lackluster ceiling. It had not gotten any more interesting in the past ten minutes.

Janet sighed, and took off her glasses. "Daniel, why don't you close your eyes and try to go to sleep, instead of staring at the ceiling and sighing every five minutes?"

Daniel gave the doctor a bewildered look, and answered in the same tone that he used when Jack was missing something completely obvious, "Because then I'd be asleep."

"And you have to sleep, Daniel."

"Shows what you know." The linguist muttered in scathing Arabic and German mix, as he turned to look at the still incredibly dull ceiling once more. Had it managed to become even more uninspiring since the last time he looked at it?

Probably.

The doctor suppressed the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes at the man, her voice crisp as she walked back to her office. "Well, you're not going anywhere until you do sleep."

"Who told on me?"

"No one. I guessed." Janet perched herself on the end of his bed. "And then when I saw your eyes were still twitching, I knew."

"I slept last night." Daniel grudgingly admitted, after another bout of unflattering names directed at Janet. "My reaction times were slower than they normally are, and I was afraid for my head."

Janet gave him a disbelieving look and stood up, "Well, you still need sleep."

Daniel sighed. And closed his eyes. It was going to be a very long and boring night.

* * *

"Hey, Danny-boy," Jack O'Neil practically shouted at the man in the gym as he tried to work out all the kinks in his neck form his night trapped to a most unforgiving bed. 

"Hey, Jack." Daniel winced, his neck was sorer then he had thought. "So, Sam told on me?"

"Yep."

"Yep." Daniel sighed and continued to stretch.

"Sam also ratted you out on your swordsmanship."

"Did she now?"

"So, I did a bit of snooping, and I found this in your office." Jack held out the sword that Daniel had been using last night. One handed, he pulled it out of its sheath and hefted it. "It's heavy."

Daniel stood up straight, every muscle hyper aware as he watched Jack act as if he was chopping wood with his sword. "Yes, Jack it is. Where are you going with this?"

"Oh, nowhere." Jack answered innocently enough. This grip on the sword was loose at best, and Daniel watched warily, knowing at any moment the sword would end up flying across the floor. With a flick of his wrist, Jack sent the weapon flying hilt over blade towards the archaeologist.

Daniel had no time to think, only to react. His body exploded like a tightly coiled spring, and he plucked the wildly spinning blade out of the air. Expertly twirling the blade in a full crescent to kill the momentum, Daniel held the blade close to his side. "What the hell were you thinking, Jack! This isn't a toy!"

"And this isn't a game!" Jack shouted back, "Don't you think, Doctor, that I should've known that you are capable of defending yourself in the field?"

"I know how to defend myself, yes. But how useful is knowing how to use a sword when the Goa'uld are breathing down your neck, Jack?" Daniel shot back, his voice quieter, but still filled with rage. "The sword isn't useful, it's not helpful – so why would I tell you that I know how to use one? I learned in _university_, as part of an _archaeological_ _challenge. _I've never thought it was important to anyone, save for a way to keep myself in shape!"

Jack grunted. As much as he was loath to admit it, Daniel's claims where more than plausible. He wasn't brought up in the military life, and O'Neil was willing to bet that no one had ever cared that Daniel could use a sword before. Besides, why would the archaeologist lie? "Just answer me one question, Doctor Jackson – how did you manage to get a sword by the guards?"

"You mean how did I get a blunt sword that I hang on the walls of my new office as decoration past the guards?" Daniel smiled with relief as Jack laughed.

His secret was safe. For now.

* * *

"I don't think he's a Goa'uld, Carter." Jack had sauntered into Sam's lab – chock full of super computers and alien gadgets. 

Sam didn't even look up from her laptop display. "You didn't think that Kawalsky was a Goa'uld, either, sir."

"I didn't say I was perfect, but Daniel is acting too much like himself."

"If you discount the sudden affinity with swords, edginess, lack of sleepiness, increase of coffee consumption, and he's just acting weird, sir." Sam ticked all the signs off on her fingers. "Ever since he ran into MacLeod, he's been off."

"And he's been more 'off' since Nem went digging around in his mind." Jack countered, "Maybe the machine had adverse effects if you spent more time in it then we did. Also, have you heard him talk about the Goa'uld? There's hate in his voice. Hate that deep is hard to fake."

"I too have noticed a change in Daniel Jackson." Teal'c stated solemnly, making both Sam and Jack jump – they hadn't heard the large Jaffa enter the lab. "But I do not believe he is a Goa'uld."

"Why not?"

Teal'c answered stiffly, as he did everything. "Daniel Jackson is not acting as Goa'uld. He has not had any unexplained blackouts, he has not threatened any of the people here, nor has he tried to use the Stargate by himself."

"See? Our resident expert has just confirmed that Daniel is just fine."

"But, sir, how do you explain his odd behavior?"

"You could just ask me." Daniel's voice was quiet, his eyes filled with pain. "I'm going home for the day. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Daniel! Wait." Jack rushed out into the hall. "I never thought that you where a Goa'uld. Not now, not ever."

Daniel smiled wanly, touched by Jack's concern. "It's fine, Jack. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

_Sam thinks I am a Goa'uld. I could've killed her when I heard her latest theory about me and my behavior. I could have, but I didn't. That's what Daniel ben Yaakov, or Dâniyal the Persian would have done lifetimes ago, not what the good, meek, harmless, defenseless archaeologist Daniel Jackson would do. So, I put my tail in between my legs and ran away to my home and Duncan. I can't even rant to Duncan about this, he wouldn't __understand__ what the hell a Goa'uld is, let alone what an insult it is to be called one. He doesn't __understand__ the depth and breadth of what I've told him. He just thinks it's one more lie to add to my tally, I'm sure of it. The only person I can talk to is my damned Watcher who would just turn around and enter everything into her precious database. What did I do to make the gods turn against me like this? What? Is it a sin I can remember, or is it something so horrible that I have buried it deeper than any memory machine can reach?_

_I suppose it's not unreasonable for her to think this of me. She has seen me volunteer to be a host, if it meant I could be with Sha're again. I don't think she realizes that I could never do that again. My hate for that vile race that has destroyed all I have ever held dear runs too deep for me to even think about giving them my body._

_The itch is back, and worse than ever. I feel the urge to rejoin the Game stronger than I ever have in my memory. The only time it was anywhere near this bad was when I was living in Whitechaple. Jack "the Ripper" had been killing the girls who lived near me, and who had been seen trying to get me to bed them for coin. I always refused, my heart was set on another lady who lived in a much better part of town, but Jack never knew that. He was killing the girls partly for his own enjoyment, and also to draw me out. I hunted and challenged him, finding him at last in the process of strangling a girl. I took his head after a sickeningly brief fight. His Quickening rushed through my veins and in the haze of the power, I slit the throat of the girl I was trying to protect. (For the longest time, I foolishly assumed that the Ripper had been the one to spill her blood, but Nem's machine unlocked his memory I had suppressed along with the rest. This is in part why I believe the other memories are true as well.)_

_For two weeks, I went out every night and hunted Immortals. I took at least one head every night. The fellow students at the university I was attending thought I had gone mad, or I was on some drug. In a way, I was. The Quickening is very much like a drug – the rush of power is freeing in its way. One night, when I could find no more Immortals in London, I stumbled into my flat, and packed as quickly as I could. The next night, I boarded a boat heading for Egypt. I prayed that I could leave all of the Game behind in England, that I wouldn't find anyone else like me in the deep desert. It worked, and slowly, I regained my sanity. The itch was gone._

_I can't afford to go crazy again._

* * *

Daniel reclined in the hard wooden chair that matched the old-fashioned rolling desk tucked in the back of his bedroom. The journal was lying open in front of him, the words pressed into the thick paper by a normal pencil. Later, when his thoughts where less erratic, he would go back and rewrite the words with a fountain pen and his personal ink, locking them into the book for as long as the book held up. Logically, he knew that he should transfer all of his personal journals and field notebooks into a computer, but the technology was too new, too unfamiliar. Immortals where often slow to adapt to the changes in technology, and Daniel was one of the worst for it. 

Duncan appeared in the doorway, glass of wine in hand. "You're home early tonight, Daniel."

"I finished my work earlier than expected." Daniel rolled the cover of the desk down, locking it with a small gold key.

"One of your coworkers came too close to the truth?"

The archaeologist laughed hollowly, "They were nowhere close to the truth, but the theory they came up with was rather insulting to say the least."

Duncan sipped his wine.

"I can't tell you what she said, it's heavily classified." Daniel swallowed, his throat dry, "She basically called me a parasitical blood traitor."

"Captain Carter?" Duncan frowned, "Did the others on your team support her?"

Daniel shook his head, "Both Jack and Teal'c offered reasons why I am not what she claimed."

"I've made pasta for dinner. Come and eat, Daniel." He disappeared from the doorway, leaving Daniel alone once more.

Slowly, he walked into the small kitchen. Duncan was standing over the stove, the sleeves of his long t-shirt rolled past his elbows. "I wish I could tell you everything, Duncan, and it' s not that I don't trust you, but it would put too many others at risk. Including yourself." _You also wouldn't believe all of it. You don't believe what I've told you so far, and I need to believe that before I can tell you the rest._ The words stuck in Daniel's throat, and he could not bring himself to say them to Duncan's face.

"I understand, my friend." Duncan smiled at him, as he drained the pasta and poured olive oil over it. The smell was tantalizing and one hundred times better than anything that Daniel could've eaten at the SG-C canteen. "We all have our secrets to protect."

"My life is built on secrets. For once I wish I had one person who I could trust and who knew all of my secrets." Daniel stabbed at his food. He knew he was whining like a five year old child, and he truly didn't care.

"It would mean betraying either the military you work for, or our brotherhood. Maybe even both." His dining companion pointed out in between bites of dinner. "However, you have all ready betrayed the trust of your coworkers by telling me a brief history of your most resent life."

"That would be great fun indeed." Daniel muttered, idly wondering if Duncan could've twisted the blade in his heart a bit more. "At least only the government would be out for my blood. Our brotherhood, as you called it, is more of a live and let live bunch."

"The Watchers would not be pleased."

Daniel suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the man. "I don't fear the Watchers. Or the Hunters."

"They slaughtered Darius in his sanctuary."

"I'm not a pacifist, as Darius was for most of his life." He felt compelled to point out. "I can hold my own against a branch of crazed, witch-hunting humans."

"And what if you can't, Daniel?"

"That will be an interesting day." The archaeologist stood, clearing his plate. "I have to go into work early. Good night, Duncan."

"Good night Daniel."

* * *

"Sam asked me if you were a Goa'uld last night, Daniel." Janet spoke softly as she checked his vitals. "I told her I'd check you out, hens the impromptu poking and prodding." 

"It's fine, Janet." Daniel spoke as softly back. "The sooner she stops accusing me of being a blood traitor, the better."

Shining light into his eyes, "I see you're eating and getting enough sleep."

"Between the two of you bullies, yes I am." There was no need to name Duncan. He knew full well that Janet knew the two were sharing a flat.

"I haven't told them about him." The doctor made a note on her clipboard.

Daniel's head tilted, his eyes squinting slightly, "Why not?"

"I didn't think they needed to know. I told Joe, his Watcher, however."

The Immortal was truly touched by the small act of deceit on his Watcher's part. "Thank you, Janet."

Janet smiled, "You're welcome. You can send in Captain Carter, now. She should be in her lab."

Daniel hopped off the table and bounded to the door like an over eager puppy. It was days like this when Janet found it hard to believe that the man was over two thousand years old.

* * *

_Watcher Log_

_Watcher: Janet Fraiser_

_Immortal: Daniel Jackson_

_Status: Active_

_Latest Head: Unknown_

_Base of Operations: Cheyenne Mountain Complex_

_Daniel seems edgier still. I have been going through the Chronicles, and I cannot find a time when he was reported as being more short tempered and agitated. Recently, he has revealed to his team mates his sword skills. He has gotten over his bought of sleep deprivation, and seems to be trying to contain his anger towards a team mate who called him a "blood traitor". In my opinion, he is not about to go on a head hunting spree any time soon, for fear of taking too much time away from his work. He has taken to retiring to his apartment in the area more and more, instead of sleeping in the dorms here, consequently there is less time I can watch him. I am working on a solution._

_Daniel's age has always been of some contestation among us. I am working on a way to "carbon date" his blood. I hope to have a firm date to report soon._

Janet sighed with disgust as the computer uploaded her newest, and over due, update on Daniel's life. Her lie about the impossible carbon dating wouldn't hold the others off for long, and she couldn't very well tell them the whole truth.

"Between a rock and a hard place doesn't even begin to cover it." she whispered to the glowing screen. "It doesn't even begin."

* * *

"Do you ever wonder if you keep forgetting something important?" Daniel asked Teal'c over lunch. His hamburger and fries tasted slimy, but he managed to force it down. The strong cups of coffee he washed it all down with helped with the taste. 

"No, Daniel Jackson, I do not." Teal'c's face was as grave as ever. "Do you suspect that Nem's memory machine has unlocked some hidden doors for you?"

"I don't know what I believe. If the memories I have are true, then I will have to take a serious look at my character." Daniel swallowed another mouthful of meat and coffee. "If these memories are true, then I don't know if I know myself at all."

"Does one every truly know oneself, Daniel Jackson?"

"I would like to believe that we do." he sighed, tossing a fry beck onto his plate. "But perhaps we spend so much time hiding ourselves from everyone else, we lose sight of ourselves, as well."

"It is questions such as these that many of the philosophers have spent their lives trying to answer." Teal'c pointed out.

"Personally, I am much in favor of René Descartes' 'I drink, therefore I am.'" Jack added, plopping into an open seat at the table, deftly stealing a fry off of the archaeologist's plate. Wordlessly, Daniel pushed the food in front of him.

Teal'c face turned grave. "I thought the quote was 'I think, therefore I am', Jack O'Neil."

The Immortal could've remember a time he had laughed so loud and so hard in his very long life.


End file.
